


Lost and Found

by psocoptera



Category: Huge
Genre: Genderqueer Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-01
Updated: 2010-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:20:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psocoptera/pseuds/psocoptera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair and the affair of the necklace.  Written for the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/abc_las/">ABC Network Last Author Standing</a> challenge prompt "A Known Mistake Is Better Than An Unknown Truth."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost and Found

When he first puts on the necklace, Alistair doesn't mean to wear it to the campfire that evening. But then Ian comes in and doesn't even seem to notice. And - stealing another glance in the mirror - it looks good, with the cut-up shirt, and the hair. It looks right.

So Alistair lets himself forget, accidentally-on-purpose, that he's still wearing it, and he's almost all the way to the fire circle before he reaches up to swat a mosquito and feels the chain.

Instinct says _hide!_ , instinct says to turtle down into his jacket until campfire is over and he can slink away in the dark.

But this is camp, not real life; he's never going to see any of these people again, except his sister, and he's tired of worrying about Chloe. So he checks the clasp, carefully centers the pendant, and lifts his chin to walk proudly into the fire circle.

He feels Chloe's stare when she sees him, but he just walks past and finds a seat on the other side. Trent is next to her, and he feels suddenly warm, although the fire isn't high enough yet to throw much heat. He thinks he's ready, barely, for people to laugh, or call him names, but not Trent. If Trent laughs at him it'll feel like a gut-punch. If Trent smiles at him... Alistair sits down on one of the low log benches and lets himself imagine, just for a minute, Trent telling him he looks good like this.

Campfire turns out to be super-short - they jump right into the camp song, do a few other slow ones, Kumbayah, Blowing In The Wind, and that's it. No Titanic tonight, nothing silly. The mood is quiet and no one tries to linger, they just file out of the circle and head back to the cabins.

Alistair is one of the last out. It's dark and he's annoyed to realize that, preoccupied with what he was wearing, he's forgotten his flashlight.

It's the only bad thing that's happened, though. No one said anything. He runs a finger along the necklace happily and of course that's when Chloe and Trent step in from the side of the path where they've been waiting for him.

"Um, hi?" he says, pulling his hand away quickly.

Chloe doesn't answer, just clicks on her flashlight and shines it right in his face.

"Ow," Alistair says, turning his head away, "What?"

"Where did you get that necklace?" she asks.

His hand goes back to his neck automatically. "I found it," he says.

"In your cabin?" she asks. "Because that's Trent's stepmom's necklace, she was looking for it. Isn't it, Trent, isn't it hers." It's not a question, it's an accusation.

"Yeah, I guess," Trent says. Alistair squints into the light, but he can't make out either of their faces.

"I was going to put it in the lost and found tomorrow morning," he says, "I just thought I'd - I didn't think it would hurt anything."

"Why would you do that," Chloe says, and she sounds really upset. "Why are you - that shirt - " It's not really a question either. She's not ready to ask - Alistair isn't ready to tell her - this isn't the time. Instead he reaches up behind his neck and fumbles with the clasp of the necklace.

"Here," he says, holding it out to Trent, and Chloe finally lowers the flashlight. He blinks the glare away from his eyes.

"Thanks," Trent says, taking it. "She'll be glad someone found it." Trent's fingers brush against his as he takes the necklace and Alistair twitches minutely with the impulse, instantly stopped, to clasp his hand.

He turns, instead, and walks away down the unlit path. This was such a mistake. Of course the necklace belonged to someone. He doesn't want to imagine what Trent might be thinking. He can hear whispers behind him and he tries to speed up, but in the dark, with no flashlight, it's a bad idea - he hits a tree root and goes down hard.

He lays there for a second, sprawled flat, wishing he could just disappear, and then hears feet hurrying towards him.

"Hey, Athena, are you okay?" Trent asks, bending down. He reaches out a hand and Alistair takes it mutely, lets Trent help him back to his feet. His hand is warm and calloused.

"Look, the necklace..." Trent says. Alistair drops his hand abruptly. "It's not a big deal," Trent goes on. "It actually, uh. It looked - " And then Chloe is there, asking if he's okay, hugging him in a burst of sisterly concern.

They walk him back to his cabin and he waits for it to come up again, but nobody says anything. Nobody mentions it the next day either; no one treats him any differently. He still sort of wishes he never found the necklace. But he's also glad that, for one evening at least, he showed himself. He's tired of hiding.

He wants a necklace like that someday, he thinks as he climbs into bed, and he almost doesn't believe it when he puts his hand under his pillow and finds one.

It's completely different, he sees at once. It's a little disk of leather about the size of a quarter, stamped with a letter A and a border of tiny stars, strung on a thin cord. It's an obvious product of the craft cabin. It's not the kind of thing he covets - it's the kind of thing that guys wear. But it's a necklace, and someone made it for him.

He looks around the cabin, but no one is watching. Hesitantly, he pulls the cord over his head.

It could have been anybody, he tells himself, anyone who saw him at the fire.

 _Trent_ , his heart whispers. Or his sister.

He's not sure which he's hoping for.

Maybe he'll wear it and see what happens.


End file.
